


Howl

by GraceTyabb



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Omega, Anal Sex, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Multiple Partners, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-11-28 20:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraceTyabb/pseuds/GraceTyabb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Les Mis Anon Kink Meme Fill: "Omegaverse fic, focus on omega!Grantaire"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt for this fill can be found here: http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/9761.html?thread=1158177#t1158177
> 
> This will be a multi chapter fill, and may take quite some time to fill; I'm trying to keep it different to my other omegaverse fic without changing my writing style, though the prompt specifically asks for something similar. Though that doesn't mean I won't fill other prompts in between. Any critique is very welcome.

**Prologue**

* * *

 

Enjolras doesn’t know a great deal about heat cycles in omega’s; as an alpha it was something he did not experience, and as a man dedicated to Patria it was something he had no interesting in learning. However Grantaire was neither of these things and Enjolras could practically calculate Grantaire’s heats by the fleeting days of sobriety he experienced for the duration of them. Whether Grantaire’s lack of drunkenness was out of necessity or comfort Enjolras didn’t bother to find out.

Until, of course, the day they get into another of their livid fights about Grantaire’s purpose with the Amis, and Grantaire turns to drink as he always does, and hours later Grantaire has gone through a dangerous number of alcoholic beverages and Joly is bordering on hysterical.

As two of the few omegas in their little group, Joly and Grantaire shared an unspoken bond no alpha could truly understand (one could include Feuilly, but God forbid he go to either of them for any kind of help or reassurance). They seemed to keep an eye on each other, especially as heats approached, though Joly has Bossuet and Musichetta to take care of him most times. Joly was the only one who knew the location of the safe place Grantaire holed himself up in when his heats came on, and refused to tell anyone where it was with a grim determination he normally saved for the insistence he was ill.

“A state of insobriety only advances the stages of a heat, _and_ it leaves him vulnerable to... to less savoury types.” Joly blundered, and would have been packing his books away into his bag would his hands stop shaking enough to let him do so.

Combeferre backs up his story, claiming that inebriation can cause omegas to release more of their heat pheromone than usual due to lack of moderation. Bossuet calms Joly down enough to get him to listen to Combeferre’s plan to create a search party; each one of them would take different parts of the city, and Gavroche, who never seemed to sleep, would mediate between them should Grantaire be found.

By the time Enjolras and Courfeyrac find him, passed out in an alleyway with a greasy, dark haired alpha trying to forcefully pull him trousers off, his scent is strong enough to be sensed almost a block away.

Enjolras growls at the other alpha in a way he hopes sounds possessive enough to trick the man into believing Grantaire is theirs. Courfeyrac yelled and kicked up enough of a fuss to scare him off, and left Enjolras with Grantaire claiming he was “off to find Joly and that safe house, _finally._ ”

Enjolras kneels beside Grantaire and shakes his shoulder, but Grantaire barely shuffles. Sighing – and trying not to breathe through his nose – Enjolras slides Grantaire’s arm over his shoulder and wraps his own around the drunk’s waist, lifting him easily. Grantaire is lighter than Enjolras imagined him, though with Grantaire’s diet of mostly drink it shouldn’t surprise him as it does. Before Enjolras can catch himself his nose is buried in Grantaire’s dark curls, breathing in deeply to capture the smell of omega. He pulls back sharply and almost drops his ward, before finally shuffling out of the alleyway in time to see Courfeyrac return at full speed, Gavroche and a puffing Joly in tow.

“Is he okay?” Joly asked. Courfeyrac skidded to a halt, pupils already blown wide from such proximity to the omega in heat. Joly fidgeted, side-eyeing Courfeyrac. “Maybe you should go...”

“No,” Courf barked, shaking his head as if to clear it. “This isn’t as easy as finding his alpha and leaving him be. He’s not bonded yet.” Enjolras had thought it a rumour spread by dirty minded schoolboys; Courfeyrac often noted un-bonded omegas were significantly needier in heat, and required more attention. Grantaire groaned in his ‘sleep’, digging his nose into Enjolras’ neck. The blonde stood as still as possible to avoid jostling him, though his muscles tensed.

“Let’s just get him to his... safe house. We’ll sort it all out then.” Enjolras sent Gavroche along with Joly, ordering the omega to find Bossuet and get home, lest the situation cause him more stress. Joly happily took off after giving them the address and pointing them in the right direction.

As it turns out, it was a night full of things Enjolras shouldn’t have found surprising but somehow did. Grantaire’s ‘safe house’ was an empty wine cellar beneath the Corinthe, chosen for its central location to all of Grantaire’s usual haunts and thick, seamless walls. The door itself had a deadbolt on both sides – the outside for locking away expensive wines, had there been enough in the store to fill it – the inner one clumsily added on, mostly likely by Grantaire himself. The cellar was mostly bare, besides a small table with a few short candles and a bed, piled with blankets of varying types. Enjolras practically threw Grantaire down onto it and backed away towards where Courfeyrac remained at the door.

“We can’t just leave him here.” Courf whispered, eyes not leaving the unconscious man. “This can’t be easy for him.”

“I’m inclined to agree; no man, not even a man like Grantaire, should be left to suffer,” added Enjolras, “but none of us exactly have the time or patience to stay with him for the remainder of his... episode.”

This was true. If it wasn’t classes, it was revolution-based business, and everyone who could be trusted with Grantaire was neck deep in work.

“We’ll take shifts,” blurted Courf suddenly. “No one will be away for too long, and there’ll always be someone here to make sure he’s okay.” Finally, the curly haired boy turned his eyes from Grantaire and looked up to Enjolras. The golden haired revolutionary himself sighed, rubbing slightly at his temples.

“Alright. You stay here; I’ll find the others and see who’s willing to stay with him.” Courf nodded, finally stepping slowly into the room and fidgeting for a moment before deciding to light a candle.

“Don’t forget to lock the door,” Enjolras announced, shutting the thick metal door behind him and taking off.

Only a few of the Amis spoke against taking a shift; Feuilly and Joly, for obvious reasons, and Bossuet to stay with Joly. Combeferre showed an interest in checking up on Grantaire medically, while Jehan just wanted to help in any way he could. Bahorel stated that he actually enjoyed Grantaire’s presence, drunk or not, and would happily help him out.

They stayed at the Musain well into the night, and went away with a plan.


	2. Courfeyrac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Les Mis Anon Kink Meme Fill: "Omegaverse fic, focus on omega!Grantaire"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this fill can be found here: http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/9761.html?thread=1158177#t1158177
> 
> Thought this chapter would take me longer than it did, though I imagine it will be the easiest to write out of all of them.

**Courfeyrac**

* * *

 

All Courfeyrac could do until Grantaire awoke was wait. He perched on the end of the bed – the only furniture in the room he felt comfortable he wouldn’t break upon sitting on it – and removed his cravat. After a moment of thought, he also removed his shoes, as well as Grantaire’s, in some attempt to keep dirt and dust off the bed sheets.

It seemed the longer he waited, the stronger the scent of a heat in the room got, and it was close to driving the man insane. Still, he didn’t move. It wouldn’t do for Grantaire to wake to find Courfeyrac in a state any worse than the only he was already in; panting under his breath, the shadow of sweat across his brow, achingly hard.

It felt like hours, Courfeyrac didn’t know, but when Grantaire did awaken it was, at least physically, swift. It seemed Grantaire could sense the alpha’s presence, and immediately shifted up and towards him, grasping Courfeyrac’s collar and pulling the Irishman atop him, a groan already spilling past his lips.

“Courfeyrac?” He mumbled, confused. Courfeyrac blinked at him and nodded, attaching his teeth to the sensitive juncture of neck and shoulder. Grantaire hissed, gripping the fabric spread across Courfeyrac’s back.

Between bites and licks, Courfeyrac explained. “I’m here to help. We all are.” A particularly hard bite under Grantaire’s ear caused him to moan loudly, and Courf smirked. “I certainly hope you’re not averse to being handed about like a bottle of your wine.”

Grantaire grinded up against Courfeyrac’s thigh, which had at some point slipped between Grantaire’s legs to press against his manhood. “There is nothing I’d like better, right now.” He pulled insistently at Courfeyrac’s shirt. “This needs to come off.”

Courfeyrac acquiesced, stripping both himself and Grantaire before throwing their clothing as far as he could without looking.

“Won’t be needing those for a while,” he smirked in response to Grantaire’s reaction. Grantaire laughed and lifted his hips, urging Courfeyrac to slide a hand down under his ass. Courfeyrac’s thin, dexterous fingers brushed Grantaire’s entrance, already practically dripping with lubrication.

“Jesus, ‘Taire,” the alpha huffed, quickly shoving two fingers in. Grantaire threw back his head and moaned, gripping tight enough at Courfeyrac’s arms for tiny half-moons to form on the skin. Courfeyrac removed his fingers, wiping them clean on the sheet beneath them, lifted Grantaire’s hips with surprising strength and eased into the man below him. Both men hissed, Grantaire’s morphing into a shout as Courfeyrac struck his prostate.

Courfeyrac grinned, gripping Grantaire’s thighs and starting a steady pace. “Seems I have all the luck, don’t I?”

“Don’t care,” Grantaire grunted through clenched teeth, “So long as you share.”

It doesn’t take long for Grantaire, who must not be used to having an alpha here to pamper him, yet Courfeyrac holds back and manages to fuck him all the way through to his second orgasm. They both fall limp, Courfeyrac atop Grantaire, before the alpha regains some of his enthusiastic nature and lifts himself.

“You smell good.”

This gets a true, deep laugh out of Grantaire, who replies, “if only this weren’t an empty cellar, else this would be a real party.”


	3. Jehan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Les Mis Anon Kink Meme Fill: "Omegaverse fic, focus on omega!Grantaire"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this fill can be found here: http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/9761.html?thread=1158177#t1158177
> 
> Jehan's just my favourite. He's a cutie. I figured he would be the kind of alpha with stereotypically omega tendencies. Any critique is most welcome and very appreciated.

**Jehan**

* * *

 

They’re in the midst of another round when a knock comes to the door. Courfeyrac only has time to remember he forgot to follow Enjolras’ instructions and lock it when the handle creaks and it opens, a head adorned with long golden locks peeking in.

It’s Jehan.

Grantaire barely seems to notice, but Courfeyrac does, waving a hand out to him, beckoning.

“Come, Jehan. I’m sure Grantaire will be glad to see you.” The blush on Jehan’s face looks almost painful, but still Jehan enters and approaches, though not before locking the door behind him as he should (Courfeyrac will have to talk Jehan into not telling Enjolras about that.)

Jehan’s pupils have blown so wide the whites of his eyes are barely visible, and yet it’ clear to see Jehan can’t rip his gaze from Grantaire’s face. He tried to capture everything, every arch of light and swell of shadow, so that when matters weren’t so pressing he could reflect through his poetry.

All he could do for that moment, however, was drop to his knees beside the bed and lower his lips to Grantaire’s softly. The omega pushed back heartily, opening his mouth to allow Jehan to slip his tongue inside. The image of chastity Jehan had always held slid away alongside his clothing, until he was as bare as his companions, gently holding Grantaire’s head between his hands.

“Jehan,” Courfeyrac called, pulling the poet away before lifting Grantaire upright, pulling Jehan’s forearm to place him behind Grantaire. Jehan cocked his head and ran the tips of his fingers along Grantaire’s spine, smiling softly as the omega arched. Courfeyrac reached around and grasped Jehan’s hand, drawing it down Grantaire’s back to the place where Courfeyrac’s member disappeared into Grantaire’s entrance. The two alphas shared a quiet look, Jehan worried and Courfeyrac encouraging, before the poet took the hint and gently pressed a finger into Grantaire alongside Courfeyrac.

Grantaire hissed, tightly grasping Courfeyrac’s shoulders. Jehan frowned; he ran his spare hand through Grantaire’s dark curls in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

“You’ll be fine, ‘Taire,” Courfeyrac hissed, adjusting Grantaire so he sat more comfortably on the Irishman’s lap. “You’re far past prepared for this.”

“We’ll go slowly,” Jehan added with a breath, pressing a kiss to the omega’s shoulder and adding another finger. Grantaire shut his eyes tightly, but nodded, breathing in slow stunted pants. Courfeyrac wrapped his hand around Grantaire’s unattended member, stroking it a few times quickly before running his thumb over the tip. Grantaire thrust up into Courfeyrac’s hand, and Jehan took his chance to insert a third finger and continue scissoring them inside Grantaire, preparing him as well as he could.

Finally, Jehan removed his fingers, Grantaire whining at the loss he hadn’t known he would miss. He felt a second pair of hands take a place on his hips, and breathed deeply outwards as the burn and stretch began, pushing his forehead against Courfeyrac’s collarbone and making quiet sounds under his breath. He could feel Jehan’s face pressed against his back, pressing slow, wet kisses against his skin. They sat still, breathing loudly, until Grantaire finally pivoted his hips, his head still dipped. The three Amis moaned in tandem, the alphas working together to lift and drop Grantaire slowly, as he seemed to lack the strength – or possibly presence of mind – to do so himself.

“ _F-fuck_ ,” Courfeyrac bit, muscles straining, his mind set on keeping the current pace lest they bring the omega to harm. Jehan slid left slightly, aligning with Grantaire’s prostate, causing the omega to come with a drawn out moan. Muscles tightening about them, the two alphas followed shortly after, both pulling out quickly. Jehan wrapped his arms about Grantaire’s waist, holding him up as Courfeyrac slid away, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

“You’ve got him from here, yes?” Courfeyrac questioned, Jehan nodding and pressing his chin into Grantaire’s shoulder, gesturing towards the mess across Courfeyrac’s chest.

“You should clean up before you go.” The dark haired alpha nodded, looking about for something with which to wipe himself clean before redressing.

Grantaire lifted his head from where it rested against Jehan’s, leaned forward almost out of his grasp and licked a long, clean stripe up Courfeyrac’s abdomen. Courfeyrac stilled, choking out a moan, while Jehan once again hid his face against Grantaire’s back, whining. The omega smirked up at Courfeyrac, continuing to clean the worst off of the alpha with his tongue.

“God, ‘Taire,” Courfeyrac hissed, winding a hand through Grantaire’s curls and pulling him away after a few minutes, “You’re absolutely filthy.”

Grantaire just leant back into Jehan’s embrace, smirking even harder if possible. “Bye, Courfeyrac.”

Giving a rather undignified whine, Courfeyrac lifted himself off the bed and redressed, throwing a final wanting look at the pair watching him.

“Enjoy it,” he ordered Jehan, pointing at the blonde, “it’s over before you know it.”

“Goodbye, Courfeyrac,” the two on the bed echo, prompting the man to huff and take his leave. There was a moment of silence, and then Grantaire turned his head to face Jehan, who was still resting his chin against the omega’s shoulder. The poet wound his legs about Grantaire’s waist.

“You okay?” He asked, blinking up at the omega. Taken aback by the alpha’s concern, Grantaire nodded, sparing a glance at the door.

“Aren’t you meant to lock that?” He asked.

Jehan gave a low whine, turning his head down to press his lips against a freckle on Grantaire’s shoulder. “Don’t want to.”

“Oh?”

“It’s all the way over there, and you’re here.” Grantaire chuckled, feeling Jehan’s pout rather than seeing it. He sits a moment, content.

“I feel alright. For now.”

“Alright.” Jehan replies. Another beat of silence passes. “Just want to snuggle then?”

“I’d love that.”


	4. Combeferre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Les Mis Anon Kink Meme Fill: "Omegaverse fic, focus on omega!Grantaire"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this fill can be found here: http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/9761.html?thread=1158177#t1158177
> 
> This fill has almost 1000 hits oh my goodness! I had absolutely no idea what I was doing with chapter, so I had to keep coming back to it and changing things before I was satisfied with it. And WHY does my interpretation of Combeferre have to change every time I write about him? Anywho, any critique or suggestions are greatly appreciated and I hope you enjoy.

  
****Combeferre** **

* * *

With some weird psychic ability, Jehan managed to keep the time rather well, emerging from Grantaire’s bed with just enough time to redress and give Grantaire a long, lazy, utterly adorable kiss before Combeferre’s arrival. The two men nodded to each other in passing, Jehan opening the door wide enough for Combeferre to step in before leaving himself. Of course, not before shooting Grantaire a final smirk, far too much like Courfeyrac’s own for Grantaire not to chuckle.

“How are you feeling?” Combeferre asked, dropping his bag heavily beside the small table, blowing out the puddle of wax that was once a candle and lighting a new one. Grantaire shrugged nonchalantly.

“Pretty well, considering the circumstances.” The omega watched as Combeferre dug through his bag, settling at the edge of the bed with some sort of book.

“I trust the worst of your symptoms have abated then?” Combeferre pointedly did not meet Grantaire’s gaze, instead leafing through his book calmly.

“I suppose,” replied Grantaire. Frowning, he slid slightly closer to Combeferre, gesturing between them with his hand. “What, exactly, is going on here? You’re not going to ravish me too?” He teased.

Combeferre fidgeted, chancing a quick glance at his companion. Grantaire was quick enough to notice the dark look in his friend’s eyes; it seemed even Combeferre was not immune to the effects of an omega in heat.

The alpha himself cleared his throat, lifting his book. “It would be improper.”

Grantaire smirked, “But you want to.”

Combeferre turned the page.

He wanted to.

Grantaire would not consider himself an expert on alphas; his personal philosophy was to restrain himself from such pursuits, and in return show absolutely no restraint in any other. For an omega, alphas were dangerous. Luckily, Grantaire contained enough self-preservation to take the time to learn to understand them. Grantaire knew how best to avoid unwanted attention from an alpha. Of course, he also knew exactly how to gain that attention when he wanted it.

And he wanted it.

Slowly, as so not to disturb Combeferre too greatly from his guise of reading, Grantaire slid from the bed to the floor, dragging a good amount of the blankets with him. Then, with a swiftness he would never have been capable of had he not been deprived of drink as he had, he slid himself in front of Combeferre, snatched the book and threw it over his shoulder without a second glance.

Combeferre stares down at his with incredulous surprise. Grantaire grins, shaking under the force of his withheld laughter. He blinks, regaining focus, and pushes Combeferre’s knees apart, shuffling forward to sit between them.

Alphas all have the same desires, Grantaire knows; nothing gets to them the way a subservient omega does. Beneath all his knowledge and straight-laced behaviour, Combeferre _was_ just an alpha. The feeling of victory fills Grantaire as he reaches towards the buttons on Combeferre’s trousers, brushing his fingers against the alphas prominent erection through the fabric, relishing in the groan the man above him emits.

“Grantaire,” Combeferre warns.

“It’s the heat, I tell you,” he says, “turning everybody into mindless sexual beasts. Wouldn’t be surprised if you succumbed too.” He lunges forward, mouthing at Combeferre through the fabric. Combeferre groans again, louder, and grasps Grantaire’s curls tightly between his fingers.

To anyone else Grantaire’s statement would have sounded like an invitation, but Combeferre knew it for what it was; an excuse, should he feel the need for one. Every one of his actions in the cellar could be blamed on the natural instinct for an alpha to dominate an omega.

Grantaire pulled away, finally unbuttoning Combeferre’s trousers and wrapping his hand around Combeferre’s erection, reaching down to mouth the base before running his tongue along the underside, swirling about the tip.

“Don’t say I never do anything for you,” he teased once more, finally leaning down and taking Combeferre into his mouth. The yelp Combeferre made would not be forgotten by either of the men for some time.

The omega bobbed his head, slowly working towards taking as much of Combeferre as he could, hands running up and down the alpha’s thighs. Combeferre tightened his grip on Grantaire’s hair, pulling slightly, causing the omega below him to moan lowly around him. The alpha tensed at the vibration, hips stuttering up into Grantaire’s mouth. To his credit, Grantaire didn’t react to badly to the force against the back of his throat; he pulled back, sputtering for a moment, and then swiftly returned to his ministrations.

“Sorry,” Combeferre breathed, finally gathering the strength to pull Grantaire away, using a strength Grantaire didn’t know the student possessed to pull Grantaire up onto the bed. The omega’s breath rushed out of him with the force of his landing, yet Combeferre was already on top of him, one hand wandering down to slide a finger into his lubricated entrance. Grantaire bucked impatiently, but allowed Combeferre to stretch him with two fingers for a time before urging him to ‘get on with it’.

Ever the gentleman, Combeferre heeded Grantaire’s wishes. He wrapped Grantaire’s legs around his waist and swiftly entered the omega with a drawn-out groan. Grantaire yowled, hands grasping the sheets tightly. He lifted his hips, urging.

“Don’t stop,” huffed the omega. He suddenly reached up, yanking Combeferre’s glasses off his face and throwing them as he did the book. This provided Grantaire a better look into the student’s eyes, dark and focused. Once again in a position of control, Combeferre lost his flustered behaviour and snapped his hips swiftly, mouthing at Grantaire’s chest, moving upwards.

“If you tell anyone,” he says lowly into Grantaire’s ear, relishing in the whine worming its way into Grantaire’s harsh breathing, “anyone who doesn’t already know what this is, I won’t be coming back the next time this happens.” Grantaire’s hands run crooked red lines down Combeferre’s back.

“I won’t tell, I won’t, just keep _on_!” He replies, throwing his head back and finally succumbing to the pleasure, ejaculating between their chests. Combeferre makes a few final thrusts and joins him, pressing what feels oddly like a kiss to the skin beneath his ear.

When Grantaire is aware enough to move, Combeferre is clean and dressed, reading his book once again. The dark haired man would have believed none of it had even happened, were it not for a large crack running the length of the left lens of Combeferre’s glasses.


	5. Bahorel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Les Mis Anon Kink Meme Fill: "Omegaverse fic, focus on omega!Grantaire"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this fill can be found here: http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/9761.html?thread=1158177#t1158177
> 
> Uugh this chapter gave me so much grief I can't even. I don't have as good of a grip in Bahorel's character as I feel I do the others, so I was constantly revising to try and figure out what he would do (not to mention what kind of relationship he had with Grantaire. For some reason I decided Bahorel is the closest to Grantaire out of all the Amis.) Since this chapter was such a headache I'd love to hear how I could have improved it; any critique is welcome.

 

  
****Bahorel** **

* * *

Bahorel and Grantaire have greeted each other the same way for as long as Grantaire can remember; loudly, with a burly shout and arms stretched wide, usually followed by Bahorel picking the dark haired man up in what may have been a hug would he not insist on practically throwing him towards the bar so they could get a drink. There was a worry within him, now, that things would be different between them.

Grantaire is eternally grateful that things were not. Bahorel barrelled into the room with his usual energy, shouting and raising his arms and lifting Grantaire to throw him towards the bed rather than the bar, loudly questioning the alpha on how he feels and the horrid weather outside – for at some point it at had started raining and refused to cease.

Combeferre took his book and his bag and slid away silently.

Bahorel removed his clothes casually, as if the whole situation were nothing more than another day of the week, telling the story of his most recent brawl – a rather spectacular event resulting in roughly eight or nine people being permanently banned from returning to the bar in which the brawl began. Grantaire listened contentedly, cocooning himself in blankets and snuggling into them like a kitten.

“No blankets for me then?” Bahorel pouted. Rolling his eyes, Grantaire fiddled about to pull the blankets up, allowing Bahorel to snuggle in beside him. Of course, Bahorel was neither slow nor careful about his actions, and incidentally knocked the pair and their blankets off onto the floor, rolling out so far that the blankets only remained below them instead of around them. Bahorel was on his back, hands cushioning his head, and from his position straddling him Grantaire felt that perhaps none of what just happened was accidental.

“Been having a good time?” Bahorel asked, grinning. Grantaire pushed against his chest with both hands, which would have been a lot more violent were they not naked and lying on the floor.

“I’ve been manhandled rather more than I’d like,” Grantaire answered truthfully. Bahorel’s grin only seemed to grow as he eyed Grantaire up and down, one hand on his chin with a thoughtful expression, imitating the look one might have should they be selected a cut of meat.

Grantaire slapped Bahorel’s chest again with a scandalised look.

“Calm down, sir, I shan’t manhandle you if it is not your desire.” The look on Bahorel’s face was positively devilish. “I wouldn’t complain if you wished to manhandle me, however...”

“You’re enjoying this far too much for my liking.” Grantaire grumbled. They stared each other down a moment, Bahorel smirking and Grantaire fighting not to.

“This entire situation is just ridiculous,” Grantaire announced suddenly.

Bahorel swooped up like a bird of prey; he grasped Grantaire’s waist and locked their hips together, and buried his face beneath Grantaire’s ear. “Are you going to do something already, or not?”

Grantaire knew the alpha well enough to sense the unspoken meaning on that sentence; _I don’t know how long I can refrain._

Grantaire, for the sake of normalcy, had attempted to ignore a great many things that were now impossible to overlook; first and foremost that both men were naked and achingly hard, and that there was a good chance Bahorel would simply snap and take Grantaire as the others before had. Neither man was known very well for their restraint, after all.

Grantaire slid his hands over Bahorel’s, pressing them lightly. “Don’t move those hands,” he instructs. Bahorel nods, nose rubbing against the omega’s neck, and almost unnoticeably tightens his grip. Even this small movement is enough to send a fresh flash of heat into Grantaire’s core. Suddenly impatient, he lines Bahorel’s cock up with his entrance and lowers down, stopping only when his hips are once again flush against Bahorel’s.

The alpha makes a series of small wanting sounds, hands bruising Grantaire’s hips, but doesn’t move, allowing Grantaire to control his own movements. It is slow, and hard, and somehow more intimate now Grantaire knows he is the instigator and not just along for the ride. Bahorel’s lust is infectious, and soon Grantaire is throwing his head back and moaning towards the ceiling, the tight nips at his jaw only strengthening his resolve. His hand drops down to his erection, palming and tugging, yet still Bahorel comes first with what could have been a battle cry.

Without skipping a beat Bahorel pulled out of Grantaire, using his grip on the omega’s hips to lift him on to his knees and – in a move Grantaire had always dismissed as impossible – immediately took Grantaire’s cock into his mouth and throat, nose pushed up against his pelvis. Bahorel didn’t even flinch as the omega came, swallowing and pulling away to drop Grantaire beside him and cover them both with the many blankets around them.

Grantaire blinked owlishly. “That was unnatural, what you did there.” Bahorel flashed him another of his cheeky smirks.

“Can’t say you didn’t enjoy it,” the alpha replied. Grantaire scowled and ducked his head down into Bahorel’s chest.


	6. Enjolras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Les Mis Anon Kink Meme Fill: "Omegaverse fic, focus on omega!Grantaire"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for this fill can be found here: http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/9761.html?thread=1158177#t1158177
> 
> I debated a long time about where I was going to sit on the spectrum between Brick!Enjolras and musical!Enjolras (who seems significantly more accepting of Grantaire's affections, at least by fandom standards). I feel like any E/R relationship would be a slow steady build, in keeping with Enjolras' character, but the situation really didn't call for it. I just want to live in a world where everything is sunshine and rainbows and things like this could actually happen. Hopefully this fills the OP's E/R requirements satisfactorily. Any and all critique, comments and suggestions are greatly appreciated. Enjoy!

**Enjolras**

Grantaire was alone. Bahorel had barrelled out the way he had come in, wishing him a good day and wishing for an invitation ‘next time’. Grantaire sat silently for a few minutes, knowing no one else would come but silently wishing.

It was foolish of him to hope this would change anything.

He slid from the bed slowly, legs weak, and gathered his clothing from the floor. His eyes caught the door once more, hopefully, before he swore once and turned his back on it, sliding awkwardly into his trousers.

“What are you doing?” Enjolras is standing in the doorway, watching him impassively, hair and shoulders dusted with barely melted snow. Grantaire turned to face him, struck silent. His shirt hung loosely from his hands.

Enjolras approached slowly, as one would a deer in the wild, and gently took the shirt from Grantaire’s hands. The omega did not see where the shirt had been placed; he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Enjolras’ face, somehow softer and paradoxically more strained than Grantaire had ever seen it.

“I have never been as... attracted to an omega before, as I have you,” Enjolras admits. "I feel that it is more than a desire for the flesh that drives me."

Grantaire stares. The alpha clenches his fists. A beat passes.

“Say something.”

“Would it surprise you for me to say I had hoped you would come?”

Enjolras laughed, dry and forced, eyes darting away to the mess of blankets on the bed. The air still held the scent of sex, along with the sticking smell of an omega in heat, and Grantaire would have been embarrassed were he not so dearly hoping these things would break down Enjolras’ carefully built defences.

“It’s okay to want it,” Grantaire says, slowly. “It’s in our nature. Just know that I want more.” Grantaire looked away, waving a hand vaguely as if to try and clear up his words. “I just...”

Enjolras looks back up at him, eyes burning. Grantaire blames a number of things on his next words; his hangover, his drowsiness, the insane amount of sex he’d had. They all contributed to his putting his foot in his mouth.

“I don’t think I could have you this moment, and never again. I don’t think I could do that.”

Grantaire is used to a number of looks from Enjolras, mostly ranging from indifference to irritation to acidic hatred. He doesn’t recognise the look in Enjolras’ eyes now. There was still that burning – a given, seeing as he was still very much in heat and shirtless – but something softer, and closer to human than any he had seen in his Apollo before.

Enjolras reaches out and grasps Grantaire’s arm, almost as if to test his resolve. His face scrunches once, and Grantaire can see how he was about to move forward before he stops himself, pulling back and rubbing a hand across his temples.

“I need to think,” he sighs.

Grantaire steps toward him. “Maybe you don’t. Maybe you should just _act_ , and see where your instincts take you.”

Enjolras looks at him _(through him)_ again, harder than before, and bear down on him like a tidal wave. His hands are everywhere; running across his sides, fingering the edge of his trousers, curling into his hair. The alpha’s mouth fits against his own like it was meant to be there, his nose nudging Grantaire’s once before the omega opens his mouth, allowing Enjolras entrance. Grantaire’s own hands are anchored on the lapels of Enjolras’ coat, gripping tight, holding him in place. He feels light headed, and yet more grounded than he ever had before.

Enjolras pulls away, eyes hooded and panting, dragging Grantaire closer by curling his fingers into the alpha’s trousers. Grantaire in return tugs Enjolras’ jacket back and off, immediately working his shirt off too. His cravat loosens, but gets caught around his neck, so Grantaire uses it to draw his Apollo into another kiss.

Before Grantaire can think properly again his trousers have somehow been removed, and Enjolras has kicked away his shoes. He’s on his back, Enjolras hovering over him, holding himself up with one arm and cupping the side of Grantaire’s face with the other, caressing his cheek with a thumb. Grantaire isn’t used to the open affection in Enjolras’ eyes, and his brain simply can’t understand that this affection could be directed at him. It was so utterly unlike the Enjolras he had seen before.

“Are you sure?” He asks. This seems to take Enjolras by surprise, gaze focusing once again, and he thinks for a moment.

“Yes,” he says finally, “this is what I want.” It is news to the both of them.

Grantaire smirks, and immediately attempts to work Enjolras’ trousers down his hips.

There’s a few moment of shuffling to remove any remaining clothing (though Grantaire is adamant Enjolras’ cravat remains on) and then the alpha has buried three of his fingers into the omega, stroking and stretching, meanwhile sucking love bites into the skin of his inner thigh. Grantaire tries his damndest to keep his eyes locked on Enjolras’, but gives in quickly, head falling back onto the mattress with a hearty moan. He feels the golden-haired man smile against his skin, and then the fingers are removed from him, immediately replaces with a thicker, blunt force.

Enjolras presses against Grantaire as much as he can, breaching the omega below him slowly. Grantaire reaches about and takes Enjolras’ hips with both hands, pulling him forward sharply until he bottoms out, their hips pressed flush against each other. Enjolras sighs, breathing Grantaire’s name into the omega’s ear. Grantaire fidgets, urging him on.

The alpha sets a steady speed with Grantaire bent almost in half, on hand holding the omega’s thigh and the other trapped in the dark curls, dragging his head up into a searing kiss.

“I suppose the others will be quite put out when they find out there won’t be a next time,” Enjolras states as he breaks the kiss and gives a particularly hard thrust straight against Grantaire’s prostate. The dark haired man whines and grasps at any of Enjolras’ skin he can reach, which happens to be quite a lot.

It takes him several tries to muster a response. “That’s their loss then, isn’t it?”

Enjolras laughs again, without the cutting pain of before, and wraps a hand around Grantaire’s erection. Grantaire swears loudly and cranes his neck to bite at Enjolras’ neck. Finally, Enjolras lets out a moan of his own, sweet and golden, and Grantaire tucks it away into a part of his heart that hasn’t been touched by cynicism and liquor just yet. It is a place reserved for many things; the soft touch of Enjolras’ thumb over his cheek and the sound of his voice when it is filled with affection, and the open-mouthed, closed-eyed face he makes when he comes in tandem with Grantaire, speaking each other’s names like hymns.

Enjolras slumps to his side, Grantaire tucked up beside him, eyes closed and breathing harsh. There is a moment of fear in Grantaire, then, that perhaps Enjolras would now regret his actions, would rise and storm out and continue to disregard the drunkard as he always had.

Instead, Enjolras opens his eyes, clear and blue, and smiles at Grantaire like he was the morning sun, or something equally spectacular. The dark haired man is struck speechless with surprise, smiling goofily, and his golden haired companion chuckles lightly at him, throwing an arm over his waist and resting his chin over Grantaire’s curls.

Grantaire takes the initiative and presses a quick kiss to Enjolras’ chin before tucking his head back where it was, closing his eyes and committing it all to memory.

Grantaire is not a handsome man by anyone’s standard, let alone when next to Enjolras, and there are a number of things that could yet drive them apart (drinking comes to mind rather swiftly). Yet, his Apollo is here, and holding him, and as unfathomable as it all seems Grantaire isn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

So he smiles; he wraps his arms about Enjolras’ waist and tangles their feet together, and sits patiently still as Enjolras drags a blanket up and over them, and settles in happily for the night, or morning, or whatever hour it happened to be.

They stayed in that cellar for a good long while, and came out of it two parts of a whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is my most popular story to date by far. Thank you all for sticking through till the end (as unfulfilling and improbable as that ending probably is). Hopefully now I can move on to filling more prompts! I would love to hear any suggestions, requests, comments or critique's you may have.


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